


Touch My Tears With Your Lips

by all-or-nothing-baby (BundleOfSoy)



Series: Forever [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (also imagined), (imagined), (in Dean's head), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Castiel Wearing Dean Winchester's Clothes, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Closeted Dean Winchester, Complicated or not, Crying Dean Winchester, Cute Castiel (Supernatural), Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Cute Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Cries During Sex, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Dean Winchester's Freckles, Dean Winchester's Terrible Life, Dean Winchester's staggeringly low self-esteem, Dean has a crank (cry-wank), Dean's Baby, Dean's Cassettes, Dean/Connery (James Bond), Dean/Ginger (Gilligan's Island), Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Undertones, Freddie Mercury Lives, Funny Dean Winchester, Gilligan's Island References, Hand Jobs, Homophobic John Winchester, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm British, I'm Going to Hell, Inspired by Music, James Bond References, M/M, Masturbating Dean Winchester, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Masturbation in Shower, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural) Feels, POV Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Pining Dean Winchester, Pissy Castiel, Poor Dean Winchester, Poor Eileen, Queen (Band) References, Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester loved Eileen Leahy, Sassy Castiel (Supernatural), Sexual Fantasy, Shower Sex, Song Lyrics, Sorry Not Sorry, Sub Dean Winchester, The Impala (Supernatural), Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wise Sam Winchester, cassette tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BundleOfSoy/pseuds/all-or-nothing-baby
Summary: Dean tries extra hard to stop the next memory from barrelling through his mind like a runaway freight train--he really does.Cas stood--bold as balls in front of me with that impossibly blue stare--like pure fucking sex, my eyes practically screamin' at a vision of goddamn glorious nakedness; so many miles of tan skin and those mouth-watering, razor-sharp hip bones, sculpted literally by God himself… He lunges forward and grips me tightly by both wrists, roughly shoving my hands up above my head. The fucker then smirks, slamming me into the tiled wall, like blind fury on a really fucking horny day, his slippery-when-wet body crashing into mine and hot tongue pushing with surety into my waiting, wanting mouth as his thick, steel-hard cock presses into mine…Dean's dick twitches with much more than just interest at the scenario his memory is providing of his recurring shower-sex dream. But stoically he tries his damnedest to ignore it--breathing in and out, deeply--because Dean Winchester has standards and point-blank refuses to live in a fuckingFifty Shadesnovel.Dean's dick has other ideas.ORThe one where Dean gets a little (definitely not blue) ballsy.





	Touch My Tears With Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Petrichora_Vellichor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petrichora_Vellichor/gifts), [suckerfordeansfreckles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/gifts).

> Although this can be read as a story in its own right, you can also choose to read part i of this series first if you like, as this part carries on (sort of, in a very non-linear kinda way) from where that leaves off. Oh and this second act is longer than the first, as Dean has a whole-ass life-worth of issues, bless him.
> 
> Dedicated to my wonderful wifey, Petra: here you go, Sweetpea, seeing as it was your epic cheerleading that prompted me to consider making this into a series in the first place. Love you *infinity-lip-smacks*
> 
> And to the adorable Anna: for being in love with part i, "Who Wants To Live Forever"... I just hope my Dean can hold a candle to my Cas! xD

Singing loudly and definitely _ not _ obnoxiously, "Friends will be fri-eh-ends--" Dean closes his eyes momentarily, in respect for the chorus, probably a little out of tune; _ like he gives a single shit_. "--when you're in need of love they give you care and atten--_THE FUCK!?" _ Dean jerks upwards, arms flailing, his head crashing against Baby’s propped open hood and right into the lock's steel casing.

The nimble fingers and thumb of a swift hand deftly pulls out Dean's left earplug. Letting his presence be known with a rushed "It's just me, Dean," Sam then jumps back before Dean can manoeuvre him into a sleeper hold in two-and-a-half seconds flat.

"Jesus, Sam, the fuck!" Dean repeats, now facing his grinning idiot of a brother as he rubs at the forming _probably soon-to-be-cartoon_ _lump_ on the very top of his crown.

“What, Dean?” Sam then retaliates. “You’re wearing earphones, dude! And you always turn your Hair Metal up to eleven--I’m surprised you haven't blown your eardrums out by now, man.” Sam points to his own ear, waving over it, then making a mini-explosion gesture. “I mean, it’s actually pretty good goin’, for forty years of abus--”

“_Hair Metal? _ I’m listening to _ Queen_, you heathen.” Dean pulls out his cell from a pocket in his cover-alls, presses ** _PAUSE_ **⏯ on the track and couldn’t care less about how childish the face he’s pulling happens to be.

_ And if Sam rolls his damn eyes… _

Sam rolls his eyes and says, “Point is, Dean, how am I supposed to get your attention when you’re wailing like a banshee along to Freddie and the gang with your head in the bowels of the Impala, huh? It’s not like I can even catch your eye as a warning!”

Affronted, Dean spits out “One, screw you, I do not sound like a freakin' banshee. _ You _ sound like a banshee,” pointlessly, then says, “and B, I'll kindly take a little more respect--and that means much less usage of the F-word, thank you very much. As in _ nada _ .” Dean chides, referring carefully to his middle age. “'Cause, however… _ more mature _ I am, I’ll always be the Jedi Master to your Padawan, Sammy--and you damn well know it--oh _ little _ brother o'mine." Dean prods at Sam's chest, admittedly having to look upwards for Sam to be able to catch his stink-eye.

“It’s Sam.” Sam sighs, not rising to--or commending Dean for--Dean's pretty damn clever Star Wars analogy. “And I only came down here to ask what time you wanna get out on the road tomorrow? And because... I was wondering...” Sam now smiles an odd little smile, raising his eyebrows a touch, “have you talked with Cas yet?”

Dean checks off all two of his answers on his fingers. “Ten am; aaaand affirmative. Oh, and here's a free tip to file alongside _ don't eat yellow snow: _ do _ not _ refer to Baby’s intricate inner workings as her _ bowels, _ Sam _ , _not e v e r …capisce?” Dean gives Sam his best disgusted-slash-offended look, stroking a hand protectively over Baby’s shiny, black paintwork.

“You have?” Sam asks, hopeful.

“Have what?” Dean counters, confused.

“Talked to Cas?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, told him about the case. Said you were gonna sniff out what you could on the other deaths and that I was gonna come down here and give my Baby a once over, seein’ as we’ll be on the road for around four hours straight, come mañana."

Sam sighs again.

“No, Dean, I meant, like… talked to him about the _ you-two-falling-out-all-the-time-recently _ thing. Like you and _ I _ had talked about?” Sam poses the loaded statement like an innocent little question. Dean _ hates _ it when Sammy does that. Makes him feel so damn patronized. But actually he has no real right to feel that way because, as usual, Sam's not wrong; Dean really _ does _ need to talk to Cas. Set a few things straight.

Dean almost flushes at that last thought. Yeah, there are definitely a few things _ bent _ out of shape that Dean really needs to talk about, but never can--_Dean _ himself being one of them.

Dean then hates on Dean for referring to himself by that horrible fucking word he’s heard too many people--including his own Dad--use in the past. Luckily, Dean never gave John reason to refer to him as such. Well, none his old man _knew_ of, at least. Dean swallows down his familiar self-hatred, shame and guilt, then forces down more guilt about_ having _the shame in the first place, then a bit more shame about not having talked to Sammy about any of this_, _who he _knows_ would never judge him… and then sucks it all the hell up and plasters on a practiced, cocky grin like a band-aid for cowardly assholes.

“But I've been busy, spendin’ quality time with my beautiful Baby though, Sam--wouldn’t wanna rob a man of such a simple pleasure now, would’ya?” Dean now tries to give his brother a dose of his own version of Sam's signature puppy-eyes in an attempt to distract Sam from his goal.

Sam just stares back, blank as all Dean's test papers from his fruitless high school days.

Dean now sighs his own defeated sigh.

“Look, I’ll talk with Cas when we arrive at whatever no-star motel we got in mind for tomorrow night, alright? Or… I dunno, take him out for a beer or somethin’. I'll make things okay, scouts honour.” Dean concedes, smiling with only the bottom half of his face as he promises reconciliation with a tone that reminds him of a worn-down carburetor.

Sam’s face is so blank--so freakin' _ still_\--he's reminding Dean of a dummy in a store window display. Looks like a _ Jacamo _ or _ Big&Tall _ mannequin, Dean almost sniggers out--before realising it really wouldn't help his plight. But his younger brother's distrusting glare doesn't soften one bit at hearing Dean's oath. Sam doesn't even blink his contempt… until those hazel peepers finally--_inevitably_\--roll skyward again.

_ That damn eye-roll. No different from when he was a stroppy little teen, having to 'suffer' sitting-in on cool-as-shit stake-outs… when he'd much rather be stayin-in, holed up in some crummy little twin-room, reading twenty-seven freakin' text books in an hour. _

The thought is a throwback reflex though, from _ Then-Dean._ _Now-Dean? _Hetotally gets it; Sammy is just different to him. The guy is super clever and special and basically the exact opposite of Dean_. _ And _ Now_-Dean would give absolutely anything to give that precious time back to his stroppy, annoying and completely adorable little _ Then-_Sam--for both his and _Now_-Sam's sakes.

“Fine. Just… just make sure you do, okay? It's getting pretty unbearable, Dean.” Sam concedes, his words a warning, even though his eyes have finally softened a little. Dean inwardly pretends the juxtaposition confuses him, just because it makes him feel a little better about a situation which has more complications than Sam could ever imagine or understand. _ Hell, _ even Dean doesn't get what's going on in his own gourd half the time--especially when it comes to Cas.

Sam's broad shoulders go to turn his big, brown flannel-clothed upper body, but something stops him halfway. He faces Dean again, ever-changing eyes now somehow managing both wary _ and _ decisive.

“Dean, look, I know I’ve tried taking with you about this before--”

“Sam…” _ Oh, please, Sammy, hell no. _

“Just let me finish, Dean.” Sam’s words are a request, but those clever eyes also make them a demand.

Dean gives his brother a mannequin-glare all of his own (which is probably a little more Kim Cattrell than the intended _ Doctor Who-_pilot-dummy-in-a-warehouse, but hey, it's not Dean's fault he's so damn pretty). He's almost positive of Sam's imminent attack to reinforce Dean's remembering of _ 'Cas is family'_\--as if Dean doesn't understand how astronomically important Cas is.

Sam just takes Dean's motionless stare as Dean's acquiesce, regardless.

“I should never have waited, you know? With, uh, with Eileen, I mean." Sam clears his long throat and rubs at the stubble on it. And the unexpected subject throws Dean. “I, um… I should’ve told her how I felt about her, you know? Because if she had, uh, felt the same way as I did...? and even if…” he swallows thickly, running a giant hand through luxury shag-pile hair. Licks at thin, hesitant lips. “Even if things had still have turned out the same _ horrible _ way they did? I’d have crammed a whole damn lifetime's-worth of happiness into the time I'd have had with her, Dean.” Sam's eyes, darting from Dean to anywhere and back again, are now brimming over with as much need for Dean to hear him, as they are filled with longing and regret.

Dean pulls a face, pretending like he doesn’t know where Sam is going with this, too embarrassed to even comfort his still-grieving brother. Because Dean’s nothing but a _ grade A asshole. _

Sam’s chin juts up just a touch. Glassy eyes then drop the ground and he huffs a tight smile, his brow meeting in sharp contrast.

“Look, I don’t know who or what you’re waiting for, Dean. But just... don’t wait ‘til it’s too late, man." Sam then chokes out a laugh. "Jeez, Dean, if not for yourself... do it for me, okay? And for... for Eileen. Alright?” And as Dean is about to stop being such a colossal prick and actually say something decent, Sam looks up at his big brother offering a tight-lipped smile. He and squeezes Dean’s cover-all-clad shoulder once, before turning fully this time and lurching up the stairs leading to the bunker's upper-basement level, stilt-like legs carrying him up three easy steps at a time.

Dean is alone again--but feels anything but. There are now so many thoughts crowding his head and they're all trying to shout over one another for his attention.

He just stands there in what is maybe mild shock, spikes of adrenaline speeding through his veins like chemical Formula One racers. Did Sam... did Sam just talk to Dean about Dean having _ feelings _ for _ Cas _ in the same way Sam had feelings for Eileen? Is that what he was getting at? Does Sam fucking _ know?! _

_ I mean, he never actually said Cas’ name... _

Dean's own green peepers check out the back of his skull because even Dean has to roll his eyes at Dean's stupid _ sometimes. _

He decides he's maybe not really in shock, just got a touch of the old ODQS: Occasional Drama Queen Syndrome (which _nobody_ must ever find out about). So, therefore, he's going to skillfully forget the whole weird conversation with Sam ever even happened--because there might only be a few things Dean is truly awesome at, but _this_ happens to be one of them--for now, he decides, at least. Because what else is he to do with such a messy mind-fuck?

_ What, 'm I s'posed to deal? Like hell. _

Dean closes Baby’s hood as he was only over-tinkering to get out of tedious research anyways. The growing lump on his head is starting to throb and his back is pretty stiff now, if he's honest--which has _zero_ to do with him being… the age that he is--and his belly _is_ yelling at him to feed it like the giant fly-trap trip from _"Little Shop of Horrors"_. So, he’ll head on up. Make himself a grilled cheese for supper and a piece of pie as reward for all his hard work. Then he'll grab a quick shower and hit the hay with a couple of cold ones and an episode or three of Game of Thrones, seeing as he's been waiting _forever_ for Cas to watch it with him.

_Cas could be floating around the kitchen like a little-lost-_Cas_per-in-a-trench-coat… or maybe talking with Sammy about clever-folk stuff... _

Dean lifts the Impala hood and props it open again because he cannot deal with Cas just yet, not with Sam’s words buzzing around his head like one of Cas’ BFF bee-buddies. Dean smiles involuntarily at the memory of a naked Cas, covered by the furry little insects… then rubs at the back of his neck, clearing his suddenly very dry throat. He shakes it off, looking deep into the heart of his Baby again.

_ Heart, Sammy, it's her heart--not her bowels, goddammit. _

“Alright Baby. You got me for at least another ten, you lucky, lucky lady.” Dean wink-clicks at his pride and joy and fishes out the rag from his pocket to carry on polishing up her pistons. He remembers Freddie and pops his wayward earplug back in, resuming _ Queen's _ twelfth album from where he'd left it paused. _ “Friends Will Be Friends” _ ends and next up on the album is one of Dean’s favourites, _ "Who Wants To Live Forever". _ It begins with the strange, synthy-build artfully climbing, always reminding him of the classic eighties movie _Highlander_\--which _ usually _ makes Dean think fondly of Connery, confidently riding a white steed along the beach in those fantastically tight, red breeches.

But this time, the words have a newfound meaning for Dean._ This _ time, Freddie's particular kind of magic conjures up snapshots of a totally different beach…

_ Dean is stood on jagged rocks at the edge of white sands. It's somewhere beautiful he's never been and there's so much grey sky and tumbling ocean. Out by the water he spots beige coattails and dark, wild hair rippling in a warm but whipping wind. Even from a distance, a blazing gaze pierces right through Dean like a celestial diamond laser forged from a bluer-than-blue lightforce; striking and brilliant and impossible..._

*

** _There's no time for us_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_There's no place for us_**

** _What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?_ **

** _*_ ** ** _  
_**

** _  
_** ** _Who wants to live forever?_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_Who wants to live forever?_**

** _*_ ** ** _  
_**

** _  
_** ** _There's no chance for us_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_It's all decided for us_**

** _This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us_ **

** _*_ ** ** _  
_**

** _  
_** ** _Who wants to live forever?_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _Who wants to live forever?_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _Who dares to love forever?_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_When love must die_**

** _*_ ** ** _  
_**

** _  
_** ** _But touch my tears with your lips_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_Touch my world with your fingertips_**

** _And we can have forever_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _And we can love forever_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_Forever is our today_**

** _*_ ** ** _  
_**

** _  
_** ** _Who wants to live forever?_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _Who wants to live forever?_ ** ** _  
_** ** _  
_ ** **** **_Forever is our today_**

** _*_ ** ** _  
_**

** _  
_ ** ** _Who waits forever anyway?_ **

** _*_ **

Dean is actually stood motionless and staring into nothing--yet seeing _ everything_.

Cas is gonna live _ forever_\--and Dean is most certainly _ not_. And it's not as if he's never considered this troubling information before--not like it's headline news--but Dean has never let himself think about it for long enough to visualise the scarily profound issue with such absolute fucking _ clarity_.

The shammy-leather rag hangs uselessly from both hands as the now ominous-sounding, synthy-finish fades to silence; Dean’s brittle shred of sanity fading along with it…

...until the ramped up screeches of May's _ Red Special _ electric guitar smashes the silence to death with the awesome but insistent intro of “Gimme The Prize”. Dean has an ODQS heart attack and scrambles to pause the song, ending up exiting his music app altogether. His ears now ring loudly in the renewed silence. Then the high-pitched reverberation is replaced by soundless echoes of the gorgeously haunting song.

** _There's no place for us_ **

_ How the fuck do you know, Freddie? _

Dean is unexpectedly irritated. He huffs out a completely humourless laugh.

_ Guess maybe even the universe has guessed how badly it'd end if I ever decided to actually... _

Dean decides to completely ignore the troubling thoughts Brian's old-but-now-new lyrics have washed up onto on Dean's shore--like the goddamn Emotional Shutdown Squad's number one trooper that he is. He closes Baby’s hood for good for the evening and it's fine. He's fine.

_Everything's_ _fine._

Dean wipes his hands of the whole affair--literally and figuratively--on his old blue cover-alls and heads on up to the bunker to feed himself grilled cheese and peach pie, with an extra helping of _ Lies. _

* * *

Water hits the top of Dean’s head like a fucking miracle; the hot, thin streams of joy tugging an almost-moan from somewhere in the back of his throat. That is, until the cartoon-lump heats and swells, a painful sting now building up all around it. Dean has to lean forward, spread his hands out on the tiles and let the shower spray flow down his neck and spine. His whole head now throbs like a bitch as water droplets slip down his forehead and into his eyes.

** _What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet _**

** _slips away from us?_ **

Dean is now more than irritated. He just wants a quiet, pain-free shower--in every sense--and definitely does _ not _ want a brilliant and stupid song to be forcing him think about whatever the hell this thing with Cas is.

_ Or isn't, to be more precise_.

It's only in his dreams that he allows it to be real with Cas.

Dean tries not to think about the fact that Cas also knows about the _ isn't _ thing that is definitely not a _ something _ between them--even though it quite obviously _ is _ a thing that both of them are completely aware of. And Dean knowing that Cas knows about the _ isn't _ thing too? Just makes everything _ so _ much worse.

_ It ain't really _ real _ though, Deano. So, it ain't worth keenin' over like a forty-year-old babe in the deep, dark woods. _

** _There's no chance for us_ **

...because _ Dean _ pretends the things he actually wants aren't real, even when he's alone with himself.

_ And that, Freddie my friend, is why there ain't ever gonna _ be _ a chance. That and the fact I wouldn't even know where to begin. The longest relationship of my life was a whole-ass year with someone I didn't even feel for--well, not in the way I was supposed to feel anyways. And, unsurprisingly, even that went from bad to worse to shit to never-even-fucking-happened. Hell, I don't even really know how to be with a girl, let alone... _

Dean tries to spit out his frustration along with the shower water constantly drip-dripping into his mouth. Why is he _ still _ so hung up on this… this bread-buttered-both-sides thing?

_ Jesus fucking Christ, can I not even say the damn word in my own freakin' mind? _

Dean chews at his bottom lip. His Dad has been gone a long time now.

_ B I S E X U A L _

_ There you go, boy, you did it. You managed to actually think it out loud… ya goddamn idjit. _

Instead of his inner monologue berating him some more in Bobby's Singers craggy old voice--there's always gonna be time for _ that_\--Dean distracts himself by squirting shower gel into his hand and starting to wash, now wondering what the significance of last night's particular subconscious loony-tune dream was. Dreams are usually, according to one of Sam's hippy books which Dean definitely did _ not _ steal a while back to investigate, just your mind struggling to figure out the tougher issues you have to face in your daily life.

_ ...or some shit. _

Dean occasionally dreams about Cas.

_ Okay, so I dream about Cas a fair bit. Yeah, yeah, alright, so it's a shit-ton; sue you, crazy brain. And yeah, sometimes the dreams are really freakin' weird, like him running a coffee shop or a florists or talking to cats and the cats talking back to him. Go figure. _

_ But in last night's dream… _

_ Me'n'Cas... We're at this wonky little beach house at dusk, where the sunset outshone any I've ever seen (and I've seen Mufasa's share)--all pinks and lilacs and oranges, shimmering like something out've every end-scene of every one of my favourite cowboy movies... Cas was bearfoot, in civvies--soft, worn-in jeans and one of my ancient Zep shirts--and murmuring some song, real quiet; Elvis, I think. He was swingin' lazily on an old, creaky porch-seat while I lay snoozin'--not really sleepin', spread-eagled across the thing--with my head in his lap. And he was combing those strong, slender fingers of his through my overgrown hair, easy as breathin', like it was somethin' he did every damn day… _

Dean runs a freckled hand through his now sopping wet hair.

_And what the ever-loving fuck was _that little_ angel-slash-hunter_ _version of_ "Beaches"_ all about? That my mind tryin' to tell me I wanna up-sticks and set up camp at a crawfish farm in Grand Isle and become a freakin' Beekeeper's wife?_

_ Jesus. _

Dean's pretty awesome at stopping anything in its tracks he thinks he doesn't deserve.

Except maybe this...

Dean tries extra hard to stop the next memory from barrelling through his mind like a runaway freight train--he really, _ really _ does. But the images are forcing their way into Dean's thoughts regardless, clear as a fucking stop sign, before he even has a chance to halt them in their filthy-hot tracks…

_Cas--stood bold as balls in front of me with that impossibly blue stare--like pure fucking sex, my eyes practically screamin' at a vision of goddamn glorious nakedness; so many miles of tan skin and those mouth-watering, razor-sharp hip bones, sculpted literally by God himself… He lunges forward and grips me tightly by both wrists, roughly shoving my hands up above my head. The fucker then smirks, slamming me into this very same tiled wall, like blind fury on a really fucking horny day, his slippery-when-wet body crashing into mine and hot tongue pushing with surety into my waiting, wanting mouth as his thick, steel-hard cock presses into mine… _

_ ...holymotherfuckingshit. _

Dean's dick twitches with _much_ more than just interest at the scenario his memory is providing of his recurring shower-sex dream. But he stoically tries his damnedest to ignore it--breathing in and out, deeply--because Dean Winchester has standards and point blank refuses to live in a fucking _ Fifty Shades _ novel.

Dean's dick has other ideas.

Growing more impatient by the second--and encouraged by the steady shower stream that's now cascading down Dean's bicep and waterfalling from elbow to crotch with a gentle but delicious force, bubbling and tapping away insistently, like a hundred little, lithe fingers--his traitorous cock is already half-hard and urging him to _touch it_ _now_ with its needy, pulsing tingles.

Dean licks at already wet lips.

He's just gonna jerk off thinking about Connery as The Spaniard in Highlander. Or as Bond. Or maybe Ginger from Gilligan's Island... just to get it _ done_. Get rid of the tortuous _ ache _ so he can maybe actually relax for the evening. He reaches down and takes himself in hand, his dick literally jumping for joy at the contact.

But as Dean closes his eyes and begins to stroke himself, concentrating on the thought of naughty little Ginger sandwiched between him and the wall--a slim, pale hand tangled in his hair while he fucks himself into the other, the total babe-of-a-redhead welcoming his every thrust--it's suddenly _Cas' _blunt fingernails digging territorially into Dean's scalp and_ Cas' _hand that's flicking at the wrist with every perfect slide of Dean's now rock-hard cock, just the way Dean likes it; slowing-up; then faster; harder…

Dean stops abruptly, squeezing himself at the base and panting his way through his desire.

He doesn't fucking want to think about Cas right now. It's too damn frustrating.

He'll think about Connery.

_ Thunderball Connery; in those tight, baby-blue short-shorts, striding out of a turquoise ocean... _

Dean rubs a thumb over his pre-come-slicked cockhead a few times, his other hand planting itself on the cold, smooth tiles above his head. And it's now_ him _ as the sweet-ass filling in a Bond-Wall sandwich... and Connery's solid hand starts to jack Dean's dick, slow and loose, at first… then faster and firmer, his deep voice humming approval over Dean's shoulder and in Dean's ear then _ Cas_' chest is lining up and leaning against Dean's dripping wet back and Dean can _ feel _ the hard nubs of _ Cas' _ erect nipples pressing into him, sending a rush of graceful-electric down each notch on his spine and then straight to his _ pleading _ cock, which _ Cas _ is now pumping away at mercilessly--alternating between rapid, firm strokes and slower, light brushes--while his quiet hum of approval turns to gravelly, teasing questions that he _fucking_ _ knows _ all the answers to, such as _ Just like that, huh, Dean? _ and _ Mmm, you like that, don't you, Dean?... _

Dean likes it way too fucking much.

He stops again, clenching his teeth so hard it hurts his jaw, trying his damnedest to escape the enticing angel-trance he's drifted into.

_ Ginger, groping at her fantastic tits while I fuck her into the shower tiles _… Dean's dick is fast losing interest.

_ Me, fucking Ginger from behind while Connery slides prime Scottish cock right up me… _ Dean's dick practically pouts into his hand for Castiel.

Dean stops, realising he's just too weak to fight it tonight. And he never really wants to fight it anyway. So, fuck it, he thinks, and gives in.

_ Alright Cas, you win. _

Now decided, Dean eagerly stoops and grabs at the conditioner bottle--the one he emptied and washed out long ago and now fills and refills with lube on a regular basis, always taking it into the shower with him, just in case--then squirts a generous amount of_ Astroglide® _ onto the index and middle fingers of his left hand. Dean now lets gorgeous _ Cas_\--and his hot-as-sin voice and scent and touch and taste--now flood his every sense as freely as the water flows down onto his skin. He reaches around behind himself, those two fingers feeling for and finding his already wet hole and coating it in the thick, glossy gel; testing and teasing and pressing in, little by little, as his dick surges back into action in his right fist. And as he begins jacking away, steadily, with a renewed and refocussed _need_…

_ …It's the head of Cas' hard, leaking cock that's sliding into my asshole, as he noses into my ear, breath hotter than the shower's stream, hotter than Hell. And he breathes out my name like a dirty little prayer, and shit, if that don't just fucking do it for me... _

It's now only ever _ Cas Cas Cas _ for Dean_. _

And when Dean throws back his head at the thought of that voice…

_ ...it's Cas' strong, slender fingers tangled in my sopping wet hair, yanking my face down to his. He wants to get that scorching hot mouth onto mine and unleash his rampant tongue, flicking it and curling it--tasting me, all of me--and I'll give him anything and everything he wants... _

_ He wants _ me_. He does, he fucking wants _ me_… _

Dean pushes past any doubt as his fingers push past that now-relaxed ring of muscle and slide further into slick, tight warmth--_Cas_ pushing hot cock up inside him as Dean somehow feels his name groaned into his own mouth. _Cas_ stills his hand on Dean's dick for a moment, as he fills Dean up so damn full Dean is muffling a breath-staggered moan all of his own and he hardly recognises his own, wrecked voice… then _Cas_ is passing a delicately circled finger-meets-thumb right up Dean's ferocious hard-on as he _s l o w l y_ pulls out of Dean's ass--almost all the way, but _ahhh,_ not quite--to then roll truthful hips all over again, sending Dean's front teeth sinking into swollen lip, as angel-dick sinks back into him again, deep into Dean's _begging_ ass… then _Cas_ really goes to work on fucking him good, finding Dean's sweet-spot and nudging that knot of nerves with his fingers like a seasoned pro, again and again and again, sending Dean's pleasure centre into maximum overdrive, while his fist now jerks Dean faster and closer to shooting his load all over the cubicle tiles… and all Dean can think, as _Cas_ fucks his dick and his ass with utter divine debauchery, is _I_ _want him, I want him, I fucking love him_ _and I want him and fuck, I wanna be his_… and when Dean's whole body feels as if it's about to rupture with absolute bliss, Cas growls out _You're mine, Dean; I _do_ love you, and you _are_ mine--forever_ in swirling, sublime enochian that Dean's sex-brain somehow understands… and Dean liberally decorates those green tiles in his ecxtasy, with shameless abandon like a sex-fueled Jackson fucking Pollock; his long, white ropes of come shooting out of him till his balls are achingly empty… but Dean keeps coming regardless, for longer than he thought he was able, moaning out quiet little whimpers with each intense, full-body shudder.

When he eventually calms down, Dean has to hold his breath as not to yell Cas' name. He wants to hear it on his lips, repeat it like a mantra. But after a full minute of not breathing, he exhales--exhausted--letting go of his extreme desire to sprint to Cas' room and bowl into him, knocking him to the ground and then kiss him and kiss him and kiss him…

…then all that is left in Dean is the pain in his stupid, banged-up, messed-up head and his forever-tired and broken heart.

He doesn't fucking want to be thinking about Cas right now. Hurts too damn much.

** _But touch my tears with your lips_ **

Dean can feel the salt stinging his eyes and it makes him so damn angry... at _ Cas_, for not doing something. At _himself_, for doing nothing.

** _Touch my world with your fingertips_ **

Cas _ is _ Dean's world.

But he fights the fact. Because Dean only knows how to fight; doesn't know how to let somebody in; how to let somebody _ love _ him.

_'Cause what if Cas _ _doesn't feel the same way? I mean, yeah, okay, so the guy told me he_ _loved me… but then he also went on to tell everyone else in that damn cowshed, all of half-a-heartbeat later. A__nd he _ was_ dying._

Dean swallows hard.

_ Maybe I'm just reaching too far across a fast-crumbling ravine--and I'm gonna end up losing my footing and tumbling down into a dark and lonely, never-ending goddamn abyss… _

_ Oh, go fuck yourself, ODQS. _

Dean rubs the heels of his hands into both of his red eyes and attempts to sniff up his self-pitying sadness. But a brand new lump appears in his throat when he thinks about what came after that barn--and the other impossible times he'd had to live on without Cas… and Dean just can't.

_ Because... because what if I _ did _ tell him? And by some genuine miracle he actually wants me back and everything is perfect and amazing and awesome and so beautifully fucking _right…

_ But then I go and inevitably jack it all up and it'll all turns to shit and dust and plummets straight to hell where I fucking belong and everything just ends up horribly and epically _wrong...

_ I couldn't live with what we have ending; with losing him... forever._

** _When love must die_ **

_ I can't fucking do this. _

Dean punches at the slippery wall with a closed fist.

_"Fuck!"_ he growls, as a hairline crack spreads through a tile like the pain in Dean's broken knuckle. The sharp spasm then shoots up his forearm like a _ no, fuck you! _ poison arrow.

_ duphf-duphf-duphf _

Dean almost slips turning quickly towards the loud knocking at the shower room door, trying to shake out the injury from his now-throbbing hand that irritatingly matches the still-throbbing lump on his head.

"Dean? Dean, I heard a bang and expletives--are you... alright in there?"

_ Cas. _

Dean clears his throat and hopes against hope his voice doesn't come out sounding like Shirley freakin' Temple.

"I'm fine, Cas. Just--just stubbed my toe, is all," he says, failing. "Now quit your creepin' outside the door while I'm takin' a shower, will you?"

"I was walking past, Dean. And I _ was _concerned." Cas goes from indeed sounding concerned to right-on-the-very-edge of pissed in the same breath.

"Yeah, well I'm a big boy, Cas. And I'm just peachy, alright?" Dean shouts, pissed at himself--yet taking it out on poor Cas.

_ As usual. _

Dean aims the shower head towards the now modern-art-streaked tiles, washing away his fantasy. His shame at both said fantasy and his treatment of Cas, however, remains.

He turns off the water and grabs a towel, wrapping it around his waist.

"You know," Cas says through the wood, "if you're ever not_ peachy_, Dean, I am… here for you," Cas tries again, "...for if you ever need to talk about, um, _ non-peachy _ things. Or anything at all." he offers, gruffness now a little softer and all pissy-ness apparently evaporated with the shower room steam. "Dean, there's always time for… us." 

** _There’s no time for us_ **

The lyric bounces between Dean's ears like the reverb from a booming bass speaker… but then Cas' words are drowning them out with a fucking deafening festival sized_ Marshall _ amp._.__. there's always time for us._

Dean looks up eagerly from where his eyes had fallen down into surrender, realising it doesn't have to be a war.

_ Maybe… maybe there _ is _ still time? _

Dean remembers Sam's words from earlier.

He steps gingerly out of the shower cubicle. Bare sized ten feet pad silently across tiled floor, carrying his still-dripping body over to the heavy door and leaving wet footprints in his wake. Imagining Cas, stood on the other side--all trench-coated and Mr Earnest Eyes--Dean reaches for the door panel as quietly as he can and places a wet palm gently onto the old, varnished wood. Face following close behind, he presses an ear up next to it. 

"Thanks, buddy." When Dean speaks, his voice is quiet and genuine.

** _There's no time for us_ **

Dean can't bare it.

_ Freddie, you're freakin' awesome, man... but do me a solid and go fuck yourself. _

"You're welcome, Dean." And Dean almost flinches at how loud and_ right there _ Cas' voice is, the soundwaves carrying easily through the wood.

_Actually sounds like he's got his mush pressed up against his side o'the door… _

Dean _so_ wants to believe Cas is positioned on the opposite side to him in the same way as he is; his exact mirror: cheek and hand touching the wooden panel, desperately trying to make his frustrated forever_-_love seep out and flow from fingertips and travel straight through ninety-year-old grain to find a new home.

"Dean, can I... tell you something?"

_ Please--please!--tell me everything and anything, always. I'm yours, angel, _ forever_... _

"Sure, Cas."

Dean hears soft, angel breath.

"I miss… I miss being able to _ come when you call, _ with no longer having the use of my wings." Cas pauses. "But I would very much like to think I _ could _ still be there for you whenever you need me, Dean, regardless of the time it would take to reach you," he admits. "I need you to know that I will _ still _ always come when you call, even if the logistics have changed. You just have to keep calling, Dean."

Dean's face drags itself into a smile while his eyes fill up again with that sodium-sting, now at the behest of an entirely different emotion.

_Cas' voice sounds weird and beautiful here, close up like this; like he could almost be mine. For real._

Dean just wants to stay here _ forever_\--safe and close to his angel--with no strings or constraints or fear.

_ Coward_.

But then it hits Dean with blinding precision: the something he wants even _ more_...

_ To be _ properly _ close to Cas, with no door or restraint or death-threat excuse; only... sharing everything, belonging to each other; an actually _real_ reality. _

_ What if… _

** _Who dares to love forever?_ **

_ Sam and Eileen. _They_ would've. _

"Me too, Cas. I miss it too." Dean almost sings. "Screw personal space, huh?" he laughs, nervous.

He can almost _ feel _ Cas' smile through the grains in the oak.

"Dean, I--"

"I'll come find you when I'm done, Cas. Got somethin' for you."

After a beat, Cas leaves their secret bathroom shared-heaven--Dean can feel that too, can feel the loss in his soul, he thinks--as he moves silently away from the door.

"Alright, Dean."

Dean hears the bone-familiar _thud-thud _ of Cas' boot soles and the _ thwip _ of the trench as Cas takes off down the bunker's corridor. But tonight, those sounds somehow possess a different quality; something that maybe sounds a little like _hope_. Those echoes are not so much walking away from Dean--as is their usual path--but setting out on the road to a place where Dean is going to rise up to meet them, and will try his damnedest to finally make things _real_. 

_ And it's gonna be sooner rather than never. _

Because his little brother's bravery and love--a love which so very unfairly didn't make it in this cut-throat, tight-fisted world--has ethereally and posthumously helped Dean realise_ forever... _is just too damn long to wait.

* * *

Cas opens his door to a sort-of-smiling Dean. It's a strange little smirk which feels odd on Dean's face. Dean wonders if he maybe looks a bit like Sam, with his weird garage-smile from earlier on in the evening.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey man, you busy?"

Cas shakes his head and gives an enthusiastic _ no _ with the gummy grin Dean's pretty sure he reserves just for Dean.

"Would you like to come in my room?"

Dean almost chokes on his breath.

_ Cas, you have no fucking idea. _

"Love to… but I, uh, better crash," Dean says, flicking a thumb in the general direction of his own room, "Shit-ton of drivin' to do first thing, you know?"

_ I ain't ready just yet. Gotta think. Need a plan. _

"Of course, Dean. I understand." And although Dean still sees gums, he would swear he catches disappointment in those baby-blues.

Dean now waves a cassette tape around, entitled:

___________________

** _A KINDA MAGIC_ **

___________________

...scrawled messily and incorrectly onto it's peeling, ripped label.

"Just dug this gem out for'ya, man. Absolute _ classic_. Tracks five, six, seven, eight and nine, in particular. Basically, the end of side one all of side two." Dean shifts his weight from foot to foot. "See, most albums, they're like stories. The first part, that's like the set up, you know? And it's good--it's _ real _ good. But the second part… the second part is _ always _ the best. And it's right here, waiting for you Cas. Getting ready for you to... to _ hopefully _ love it."

Cas is listening intently, all trench-coated and Mr Earnest Eyes in the flesh.

"So, I, uh, hope you do--or can. Really hope you can love him… _ Freddie_, I mean, the singer. The songs. The album--look, just listen to it tonight for me, would'ya man?" and fear and muscle memory have Dean rubbing the back of his neck.

_ But I ain't bein' no cowardly Lion, Dorothy. I'm not sayin' adios like Elton, just taking a slight detour from the yellow bricks till I find myself the proper route to Emerald City, is all. _

Dean wonders what the _ real _ Dorothy might be up to in Oz, and suddenly feels a little silly.

He might not know the _ how _ just yet, but Dean is determined he's not prepared to wait much longer for his _ forever_.

_ I love you Cas. And me and my dumb brain _ will _ find the right way to tell you, I promise you that. _

"Of course." Cas agrees, putting a slender and strong hand over the now-bruising one Dean is clutching his precious cassette with. Dean instantly feels the warming comfort of Cas' all-knowing grace slipping comfortingly through his pores and healing the fractured knuckles and the lump on his head. It even reaches the ache in his beat-skipping heart. "And I'm sure I'll love him too, Dean."

Dean doesn't remove his hand and neither does Cas. And there--organic and vibrating and _alive_ between a battle-weary human and a rebel fallen-angel--is the _isn't_ thing that is most _definitely_ a thing... and is much, much more than just a_ something._

Dean reluctantly releases his hold on the love of his life and turns to leave, his resolve to return instantly blazing and burning white-hot.

"Thanks." Dean manages a smile as he glances back.

_ And maybe, just maybe... _

** _Forever is our today_**

"I'll see you bright and early, Cas."

_ Gums and the bluest-blue and my whole goddamn world. _

"Goodnight, Dean."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for part iii, coming soon...
> 
> Please, if you enjoyed this, leave kudos and a comment--it's really motivating for writers to hear people appreciate their work!
> 
> All the love,
> 
> Lucy <3


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